


The Prompt Stories

by alynwa



Series: The Prompt Series [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 19,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These stories of various lengths are based on prompts found in the MFU_100 Community on Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Agents and a Baby

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt is: Elephant

“Every time I begin to think THRUSH can no longer surprise me, they do.  This time, I think they’ve taken the cake!”

Illya looked around confused.  “There was cake?  Where?  Are you sure they’ve taken it?”

Napoleon laughed until he had to wipe away tears.  “I’m sorry, Partner Mine; I forget that American colloquialisms throw you sometimes.  What I mean is: This particular bird imagined himself a Rajah and built a satrap that looks like an Indian palace right here in Goa, India.  I just don’t understand how THRUSH continues to function and thrive when the majority of the rank and file seem to be a bunch of crackpots.”

“Oh.  Whatever, Napoleon.  I have gathered all the paperwork from the lab.  I suggest we leave everything else for the Cleanup Crew and head to the Bombay office.  It will take us hours to drive there.  There is a truck out back that we can use though it is not air – conditioned.”

Napoleon shook his head in disgust.  “Why are THRUSH trucks never air – conditioned?  And, why are these satraps always far removed from a space suitable for landing a chopper?”

Illya rolled his eyes.  “Really, Napoleon, would you like some cheese to go with that whine?”

As they walked out of the building toward the truck, Napoleon was saying, “Honestly, Partner Mine, you act like all I do is complain.  I hardly ever…”  He stopped dead in his tracks.  “Did you hear that?”

Both men drew their weapons.  “I heard nothing.  What did it sound like?”

“I know there’s no one else here, but is sounded like a toot on a clarinet.”  He turned his head as if to fine tune his hearing.  Suddenly, a sound came from what appeared to be a large shed.

Crouching down, both men cautiously approached the door.  Sounds of someone moving about could now be clearly heard through the door.  They knelt on either side of the door and Napoleon signed to Illya that he would kick open the door for the Russian to enter.  He held up three fingers, closed his fist and then began to count by holding up his fingers one at a time.  _One, two, three!_ He kicked the door wide open and Illya raced in first to confront…a baby elephant that, startled at the sudden noise, ran to the back of the shed crying in distress.

Napoleon looked over Illya’s shoulder at the creature and then around the enclosure.  He saw a refrigerator that when he opened it revealed what he assumed to be food for the animal.  He took out some bananas and called softly, “Come here, Sweetheart.  It’s OK, we’re sorry we scared you.  Come.”  Still skittish, but wanting the food, it started to come closer.  All the while, Napoleon kept uttering encouraging words in soothing tones until finally, it walked over and gently took the bananas from him.  As it chewed, he petted it and looked it over.  “Oh, you’re a little girl!  Hello!”

Illya grinned, “Of course she is.  If I am not mistaken, this is an Indian elephant.  They are endangered.  I suggest we take her with us so that we can turn her over to the proper authorities.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

“We have a truck; we will put her in the back with all her food and water.  She is wearing a decorative headband; she is obviously used to people and she likes you, so we will take her, yes?”

Napoleon sighed.  “It is our job to protect the Innocents, _all_ Innocents of which Ellie is one.”

“Ellie Elephant?  How original.”

“We have to call her something and I refuse to get too attached.  Let’s get her into the truck so we can get out of here.”

They drafted two members of the Cleanup Crew to load all the food and two barrels of water in the body of the truck along with a fresh bed of hay.  Finally, Napoleon was able to coax Ellie into the truck which fortunately had holes for air cut out along the top of all four sides.  He got into the cab as Illya started the engine and pulled out of the compound. 

After ten minutes or so, Ellie started to make plaintive noises.  Fifteen minutes later, the Russian pulled over and said, “Napoleon, I refuse to drive for twelve hours with a crying baby elephant in my ear.  You know what you have to do.”

Napoleon looked shocked.  “ _Me?_ It was _your_ idea to bring her!  Why don’t you go back there and babysit?”

“I will.  Do you know how to drive an eighteen gear truck?”

The brunet’s response was to mumble, “I really hate you right now” before getting out of the cab and heading to the back of the truck.

Illya heard the door open in back.  “Don’t cry, Ellie.  Don’t be afraid, I’m going to stay and keep you company.”  The door closed and Illya heard Napoleon’s knock.  “Alright, let’s go and if I tell you to stop, you better because it means one of us has used the bathroom!”

The Russian started laughing and hit the gas to smoothly get the truck moving.  He was still smiling as he turned on the radio.  _I wonder if I can find a jazz station._


	2. Lunchtime Lust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Accent

The Secretarial Pool was all atwitter over the arrival of UNCLE’s newest agent, the Russian known as Illya Kuryakin.  Eight typists were huddled together over their lunches gossiping about their new favorite Section II.

“Remember Twyla?  The girl from Communications who transferred to the London office last year?” Sandra was saying as the others leaned in closer, “Well, we’ve stayed in touch and she told me that Agent Kuryakin never dated anyone at work.  He barely spoke to any of the girls there; the friendliest he would become was allowing some of them to call him Illya.”

“Eeeeliya,” Glenna swooned, “what an exotic name!  And have you heard him _speak?_   His accent is so, so _sexy!_ ”

Marian chimed in, “It _is_ sexy, isn’t it?  When he came to my office to have his ID photo taken, he sat in front of the screen with such a serious face, I said ‘Come on, Mr. Kuryakin, I’m taking you’re picture, not shooting you!’  He gave me the _cutest_ little smile and said, ‘I will try to do better.’  He is… _scrumptious._ ”  She sighed at the memory.

“Hey, you two!” Josie spoke up, “Just because you both got to speak with him is no reason to show off!”

“Yes, it is!” Marian and Glenna said in unison.

Before any of the other women at the table could respond, the Commissary doors swung open to reveal the CEA and his partner.  Speaking quietly to each other, they picked up trays and stepped into the food line, providing the women unobstructed views of their backsides.  Wordlessly, they stared until the men finished paying for their meals and turned to head to a table.

Carmen waved boldly to get their attention.  “Hello, Mr. Solo!  Is that your partner?”

Napoleon said something to the Russian, who glowered, but silently approached the table with him.  “Carmen, Ladies, hello.  I’d like to introduce Mr. Illya Kuryakin, a transfer from UNCLE Europe and my partner.  Illya, meet Carmen, Sandra, Josie, Terry, CeCe, Elaine and I believe you already know Marian and Glenna.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you.  Marian, Glenna; nice to see you again.”  He stood awkwardly for a few seconds and then said to Napoleon, “We need to talk about our mission.”

Napoleon nodded.  “Of Course.  Ladies.”  He tipped his imaginary hat and then led the way to where the Section IIs preferred to sit.

“What an accent.  What a _voice,”_ CeCe rhapsodized, “I could listen to him all day.”

“Voice, schmoice!” Elaine said, “I would _love_ to be the _filling_ in _that_ Section II sandwich!”

They laughed so hard the objects of their affection and attention turned to watch them as they got up to return to work. 


	3. There Are None So Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Blind

Illya and Napoleon were in Medical; Napoleon as a patient and Illya as the partner offering support.  They were listening to Dr. Jameson, the Chief of Medicine, as he explained why Napoleon was currently blind.  “So you see,” he was saying, “the flash and concussion of the explosion traumatized your eyes.  There are no guarantees, Mr. Solo, but I believe that your sight will return.”

Napoleon sat there listening calmly.  He was dressed in the silk pajamas Illya had gotten from his apartment.  A wide white bandage was wrapped around his head to hold two cotton gauze patches on his eyes to make sure no light got through.  “Would you like to hazard a guess, Doctor, as to when that might happen?  My dates will think I’m being insincere if I compliment their looks sight unseen.”

Dr. Jameson shrugged, a gesture Napoleon could not see and that caused Illya to flinch inwardly.  “It could be as soon as a week or it could be months.  I really don’t know and I don’t wish to speculate.  The only thing I can tell you besides I’m confident you _will_ see again is:  Be patient.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Napoleon said and held out his right hand.  After a moment’s hesitation, Dr. Jameson shook it.

“I have to see my other patients.  I’ve authorized a sedative for you if you become anxious or can’t fall asleep.  I understand, Mr. Kuryakin, that you will be staying here tonight.  Push the call button if you or Mr. Solo need anything.  Goodnight.”

After he heard the door close, Napoleon leaned his head back upon his pillow and exhaled deeply.  Illya watched him for a few minutes.  Someone else might not have noticed, but Illya could see the tension in the man’s body.  “Napoleon,” he said softly, “tell me how you are feeling.”

“I’m scared, _Tovarisch._ Being blind is one of my greatest fears, maybe my _greatest_ fear.  I feel vulnerable and helpless.”

Illya pulled his chair closer to the bed and took Napoleon’s left hand into both of his.  One of the first things he had learned when he was partnered with Napoleon almost ten years earlier is that the American was the most tactile man he had ever met.  Not that he indiscriminately groped anyone who got too close, but if he liked you, he would touch you.  It had taken time, but Illya had learned, first to tolerate, and then to enjoy, getting his hair ruffled, his shoulder clapped and his back rubbed.  Illya had also learned that being touched by people he cared about centered and calmed Napoleon.  “I am here, _moy droog,_ and you will know, either by my voice or my touch, that I am here.  You are safe.  I promise you that.  Rest now.”

Napoleon’s body relaxed visibly as he dropped off to sleep.

_Two weeks later…_

Doctor Jameson, Mr. Waverly and Agent Kuryakin were all gathered in Napoleon’s room as the doctor prepared to remove the bandages once again.  “Okay, now everyone remember that if he sees anything at all, it’s going to be blurry at first.”  He cut through the gauze and slowly unwrapped it before removing the cotton patches from Napoleon’s eyes.  “Open them slowly, Agent Solo.”

Napoleon was reluctant to open them at all.  This was the fourth time the doctor was checking to see if his sight had returned.  Each time had been disappointing and he had had to endure listening to the “Give it time” speech Dr. Jameson would recite.  _I swear, if I open my eyes and see nothing and he starts that “Give it time” crap, I’m going to kill him.  Or order Illya to._ The thought of his Russian partner snapping Jameson’s neck on his command actually made him grin and feel a little better.  _Here goes nothing,_ he thought and then slowly cracked open his eyelids and then shut them quickly.  “There’s light!  It hurt my eyes!”

“Good, good,” he heard the doctor say, “The lights are very dim in here.  Try again.”

This time, expecting light, he opened his eyelids and kept them open.  At first, everything was fuzzy, but slowly things began to come into focus until he found himself looking at the faces of his boss, partner and physician.  “I see no one’s looks have improved with time,” he quipped.

“Obviously, you’re doing better, Mr. Solo.  No reading or TV watching or staring for at least twenty – four hours.  I’ll schedule an eye exam in a few days.”

“Fine.  When can I go home?”

Laughingly, Dr. Jameson said, “You wouldn’t be a Section II if you didn’t want out the second you felt better!  I’ll release you to recuperate at home tomorrow if Mr. Waverly okays your partner taking care of you for a couple of days.”

“You have my permission, Mr. Kuryakin,” Mr. Waverly said, “If you’ll all excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.”

“I’ll walk you out, Sir,” the doctor said, “I’ll see you men later.”

When they were alone, Napoleon looked at his partner.  “It’s really good to see your scowling face, Partner Mine,” he said with a big smile.  He became serious immediately.  “Thank you, Illya.”

“It has been a long time since you thanked me for being with you while you were injured.  I thought we were past that.”

“This was different.  I was afraid, Illya, truly afraid that I might be permanently blind.  And I knew that I could tell you that.  That means a lot to me.  I also know that you are not the most ‘touchy – feely’ person on the planet, but every day, you would rub my arm, hold my hand, hug me hello and goodbye to let me know you were here and you made sure you did it when I was feeling low.”  He blinked quickly.  “I thanked you not only because you were with me, but because you were not blind to my fears and needs.  That means everything.”

Illya smiled broadly and patted Napoleon’s leg.  “That means we are partners.”    


	4. Thinking About the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Computer

“Napoleon, I was reading in one of my periodicals that computer technologists are working on making computers smaller and more consumer friendly.  Can you imagine?  They are predicting people will have computers in their homes.”

“Like the cartoon _The Jetsons?_ Can you imagine using a computer to program your home?  I could see myself getting involved with the computer business if that were to happen.”

“You?  You do not even know how to type, but you see yourself doing something with computers in the future?”

“Why not, Illya?  I could do that.”

“Hmmpf.  Maybe I will become a fashion designer.”


	5. Blood - Soaked Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Blood

_Blood, I am covered in blood.  It is in my hair and on my face; I can feel it flaking off my skin where it has dried.  I am in Medical now.  The nurses keep attempting to clean me, but I keep telling them to leave me be.  The doctors are here now and other nurses are helping them cut clothing, insert IV drips and attach lines that connect to machines that track vital signs.  I should be used to this by now, but this is different.  I look over when I hear the door open and I can see Mr. Waverly._

“Dr. Jameson informs me that he will recover.  I understand this was another close call.  Good job, everyone.  And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you his partner will be staying in the room tonight.”

_The Old Man harrumphs and takes his leave.  Soon, everyone else leaves and it is just the two of us.  I am finally able to slide my chair over and take your hand so you know I am here.  I do not know what possessed you to throw yourself directly into the line of fire to take a bullet for me.  That should be me lying there or in the morgue, but you saw a chance to save my life and you took it.  Again.  You are the best friend and partner I ever had._

“Hey,” comes a weak voice from the bed, “What are you thinking about?”

“I am thinking that you are a blockhead.  Get some sleep.” 


	6. Pillow Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Pillow

“Mark Darling, you’re hogging the pillow!  It’s bad enough we’re squeezed into this cot.  I am so sick and tired of Accounting complaining to the Old Man about the budget!  We risk our lives for the common good, must we also risk our backs?”

“My dear girl, look at it this way: I have a pillow approximately the size of any standard one while _you_ have the use of a six foot tall self – heated model that adjusts for your comfort.”

“I have to admit, I never looked at it that way.  I guess I have the better deal, Darling.”


	7. Learning Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Church

The two men met outside of Del Floria’s Tailor Shoppe Monday morning and entered together.  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Agent Del Floria said with a huge smile on his face, “Have a great day.”

“Thank you,” they said in unison before entering the last changing booth.  Napoleon opened the door, Glenna gave them their badges (pinning Napoleon’s on, of course) and they headed to the Commissary for coffee.

“I tried to call you yesterday morning, but when you did not answer, I assumed you were still on your Saturday night date.  Was I right?”

“Actually, Partner Mine, you were not.  I was home at a very respectable five AM; shut up!  What time did you call?”

“It was just after eight.”

“Ahhh, that’s why you missed me; I was in church for eight o’clock Mass.”

By now, they had gotten their coffee and entered their shared office.  Illya was, at first, stunned into speechlessness, but recovered quickly.  “You went to _Mass?_   What?  Did you have a pregnancy scare?”

Napoleon sat at his desk and pulled affair reports from his “In” box to review.  “Hahaha, Illya.  You know I believe in God.  I just thought since we’re home and I had the opportunity, that I would attend Mass.”  He stared at the Russian.  “Does that bother you?”

Illya shook his head.  “Why would that bother me?” he asked, “I am just a little surprised is all.  You never talk about religion.”

“I don’t believe in discussing my relationship with God, so it doesn’t come up much in conversation.”

“I see.  May I ask a question before we let the matter drop?”

"Sure."

“How do you reconcile the things we must sometimes do with your beliefs?  Aren’t our lives sometimes at odds with your religious convictions?”

“All I can hope and pray for is that I will be judged for the good I have done and the lives I have helped to save.”

“I agree.”  The blond smiled.  “I have learned something new about you!”

“Good for you,” Napoleon replied as he opened a file, “Do some work.”      

 


	8. Mail Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Mail

Illya and Napoleon were going through their mail one Saturday evening while Leona sat playing with her teddy bear on the living room rug.  “I’ve said it before, Tovarisch, and I’ll say it again: I am _so_ glad I am not really Navarre Solange.  All he gets are bills and bank statements.  He’s so boring.”

“I am sure Mr. Solange _is_ boring, but Eddie Case is a musician.  He receives requests to play at jazz clubs frequently.”

“Plus bills and bank statements.  He’s a little less boring than Navarre, but boring is boring.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Leona?”

“Can I ask a question?”

“May.”

“ _May_ I ask a question?” the four year old said as she got up from the floor holding Rollo to her and walked closer to the two men sitting on the couch.

“Yes, you may,” Napoleon answered as he leaned forward and pulled the little girl onto his lap, “What would you like to know?”

“You open Navarre’s mail, papa opens Eddie’s mail; why come I don’t get mail to open?”

“’How come,’ not ‘why come,” Papa interjected, “How come you do not have mail to open is the question you are asking, _da?_ ”

“ _Da,_ Papa.”

The two men shared a quick look and Napoleon reached into his pile of mail and extracted two pieces.  “Let me show you something, Sweetheart.  This word,” he pointed to one of the envelopes he was holding, “is ‘Occupant.’  That’s Rollo’s mail and _these_ words say ‘Current Resident.’  That is your mail.  From now on, any mail that comes with those words on the envelopes belongs to you and Rollo and you may open them. How does that sound to you?”

“Good,” she replied as she slid off Daddy’s lap.  “Oh, but Rollo can’t read at all!”

“Do not worry, Daughter; Daddy or I will help you and Rollo with your mail.  Here, let us look at this one.  Open it, Leona.”

With both parents watching, Leona opened her first piece of mail and looked over the pages very carefully.  She handed the first page to Papa and asked, “What does it say, please?’

The Russian read what he had been given, looked at Leona and Rollo and intoned solemnly, “You may have won one million dollars.”


	9. A Poetic Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Book

“What’s that you’re reading, Illya?”

“A book.”

“That much I can see, smart – alecky Russian.”

“It is ‘Sonnets from the Portuguese’ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”

“ _Poetry?_   I didn’t take you for the poetic type, Tovarisch.”

“I am Russian, Napoleon; poetry is in my blood.  It moves through me with every beat of my heart.  It makes my reality a little brighter and colors my dreams with vivid images of pure imagination.  I enjoy reading it.”

“You sound like you could enjoy writing poetry, Illya.  Have you ever tried?”

“I have.”

“May I read it?”

“Let me think about that, Napoleon.”


	10. Escorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Paris

“Gentlemen, I’m sending you to Paris to oversee the defection of a Red Chinese diplomat to the West.”

“Yes, Mr.  Waverly,” Napoleon replied, “When and where do you want us to take him?”

“Mr. Sheng will rendezvous with you at the Moulin Rouge during the show’s intermission tomorrow night.  Take him immediately to the American Embassy; his temporary American passport will be waiting; afterwards, go to Orly to meet the UNCLE jet and return to New York.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Mr. Kuryakin, your assignment will be to make sure Mr. Solo is not distracted by the showgirls.”

“I will not fail.”


	11. An Interrogation Technique

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Kiss

The kiss was soft and tentative.  The feel of his lips on hers sent her senses reeling.  His arms encircled her firmly while his hands slid seductively up and down the fabric of her dress.  He stepped closer and moved his mouth to lightly kiss her ear and nibble her lobe. 

She groaned with pleasure as he continued his assault on her neck.  She hadn’t felt this good in a very long time; sex was the least of what she would do for him.  As they sank to the bed Illya purred, “Where is Napoleon Solo?”

“Downstairs, in a cell.”


	12. Like Candy for Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Candy

“Is that my candy bar, Napoleon?”

“Maybe.”

“It either is my candy bar or it is not.  It was not a difficult question.”

“Well, it wasn’t in your desk drawer.”

“Because it was _on my desk!_ I had been looking forward to that Bit O’ Honey for the last two hours while I was working in the lab!  You can be so selfish and thoughtless, Napoleon; what am I going to do with you?”

“I’m sorry, I was hungry and I didn’t think.  Tell you what: I’ll buy you dinner tonight.”

“For that, you may eat my Baby Ruth, too.”   


	13. Love and Friendship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Friendship

Illya and Aunt Amy were having tea while they waited for Napoleon to arrive so they could have dinner.  Illya hoped he wasn’t late because the food smelled exquisite.

“I want to tell you, Illya, how glad and grateful I am that you two share a friendship.  He could have no better friend than you.”

Blushing, Illya replied, “Thank you, Aunt Amy.  I am the grateful one because my best friend has an aunt who loves and accepts me as family.”

”Dear boy,” she cooed as she kissed him.

“Where’s mine?”

“Nephew!  Here’s your kiss, dear.”

“We are lucky men.”


	14. Moving Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: London.

Illya packed the last of his wardrobe into his battered brown suitcase and looked around his studio flat one last time.  He had been assigned to UNCLE London for two years and Mr. Beldon had informed him that Alexander Waverly had decided it was time for him to move on to the New York Headquarters.  “He’s decided with whom he will partner you,” Mr. Beldon had said.

Illya sighed as his eyes traveled around the room.  It really didn’t look any different than it had when he was living there; he had very few items of a personal nature with which to personalize a living space.  For him, the flat was just a place to keep his clothes and lay his head; just like London had been a way station on the way to New York.

 _When Mr. Waverly chose me to join UNCLE, he made it clear that I would eventually wind up in New York, but I had to complete Survival School and spend time in Europe.  He was pleased that Cutter wanted me to teach a class after I graduated; truth be told, I was proud that I was asked.  I wonder who my partner will be.  I hope we work well together.  I trust Mr. Waverly’s judgment.  If he thinks we will make good partners, then we will._ He checked the time.  _My flight leaves in three hours._

He took the key to the place out of his pocket and placed it on the kitchen counter.  Picking up his suitcase, he walked out the door and into his future.  


	15. Plane Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Jet

“Napoleon, do you remember the first time you rode on the UNCLE jet?” Illya asked as they sat on the tarmac waiting to get clearance to proceed to the runway.

“Absolutely!  It was the first time I accompanied the Old Man to a Summit meeting.  Each Number One has a jet at his beck and call and they all look the same:  Roomy interior with wide leather seats, fully stocked bar, high – end stereo system, five television screens and a communications array just like what’s in their offices.  And, of course, the most beautiful stewardesses on the planet!  I thought I had died and gone to Secret Agent Heaven!”

Illya raised his eyebrows to the point where they disappeared under his bangs.  “Does that mean that your former conquests will be serving our drinks and food?  You may want to have yours tested before you eat or drink,” he replied drolly.

“I will have you know I have never… _conquered_ any of them.”

“ _What?_ I do not believe it!”

“Believe it, Mr. Kuryakin.  I refuse to have any unpleasantness on my jet because my CEA’s libido is bordering on unchained.  My flight crew is off - limits.”

The Russian smiled.  “Now it all makes sense.”  


	16. Social Awkwardness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Sweater

“That’s a lovely shade of blue, Tovarisch.  Who gave you the sweater?”

The Russian blushed so fiercely he was red from his collar to the roots of his hair.  He put the gift box down on the couch so he could turn his back to his partner and attempt to compose himself.  When he felt his face cooling off, he went to sit at his desk.  “Joanne in Translations knitted it for me.”

“Oh?”  Napoleon leaned forward onto his desk and put his face on his fists.  “Do tell.”

“There is nothing to tell.  I went to Translations to pick up the transcripts from the interrogations I had conducted on those captured THRUSH and Joanne asks to speak with me.  I followed her to her office and when we got there, she handed me this box.  She told me that she hoped I liked it.  I opened the box and when I saw what it was, she said she had made it for me.  I asked her why she had done it and she said she was not a great cook, but she could knit really well and she wanted to make it for me.”

“Wow,” Napoleon commented, “And what did you do?”

“I was not going to accept it, but she looked so excited I thought it would devastate her if I did that.  I did not know what to do except say ‘thank you.’”

“Illya, Illya, Illya.  Tsk, tsk, tsk.  A lovely young lady spends her precious time knitting you a sweater and all you can say is ‘thank you?”

“And what would you have done?”

Napoleon shook his head in disbelief.  “And you call _me_ blockhead!  I would have asked her out!  Obviously she likes you, so take her out to dinner or dancing or a movie.  And wear the sweater. _”_

Illya rolled his eyes.  “I do not like her in that way.”

“Fine.  Take her for drinks and _don’t_ wear the sweater.”

“You have an answer for everything, I see.”  The Russian shrugged his shoulders and reached for his phone.  He dialed a number and waited while it rang.  “Joanne?  It is Illya.  I wanted to thank you again for my gift and ask you if you would like to go for a drink after work.  You would?  Good, I will meet you at the agents’ entrance at six.  See you then.  Goodbye.”  He cradled the receiver and looked at his grinning partner.  “Are you happy now?”

Napoleon laughed, “No, but I bet Joanne is.  Take her someplace nice, Partner Mine.”

_The next morning…_

“Good morning, Partner Mine!  How was your date?”  Napoleon walked into their office carrying his briefcase and coffee.  “You got in early.”

The Russian sipped his coffee and pulled his lab notes from his desk drawer.  “Good morning.  My date was painfully awkward.  Joanne is quite shy; I suspected she wanted me to initiate and carry the conversation.  I really did not have much to say to her.  We basically sat at a table in the Masque Club and had a drink and stared at each other until I said I had to go.  I put her in a cab and came back to the Lab to work for a few more hours.”

Napoleon grimaced, “Ouch, that does sound painful.  Sorry that didn’t work out.”

“Do me a favor, Napoleon.  The next time you decide to give me dating advice; do not.”

 


	17. You Like Me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Beaker

“What brings you to the lab, Napoleon?”

“You, Illya. Ready for lunch?”

_bump_

“Careful, you big ox!  That beaker contains a corrosive acid!  You could have spilled it!”

The CEA looked shocked and then chastened.  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Illya realized with a start, _I have hurt his feelings!_ “You could have been badly burned,” he explained, “I do not want you to get hurt.”

Napoleon’s smile returned.  “You like me!”

“Do not be ridiculous.  You are my superior and therefore, must be protected.”

“I am your _partner_ and you like me.”

“You are a blockhead, Napoleon.”

“That you like.”

“Yes.”


	18. Time for Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prompt is: Bed

It had been a long affair after a series of long affairs and looking at his two top agents as they gave their verbal reports, Mr. Waverly actually felt a twinge of guilt.  _It simply could not be helped; those affairs called for my elite teams and Dancer and Slate had both been on medical leave from their last affair and Agent Ferraro was still mourning the loss of his partner and was not yet fit for the field.*   Now that the Slate/Dancer team is back to full duty, I can let these two have a few days to recuperate.”_

“Sir?”

Mr. Waverly looked at his CEA and realized he had stopped speaking.  He hated being caught woolgathering and harrumphed loudly.  “Yes, well, thank you, Mr. Solo.  Just make sure it’s all in your written report.”  He reached behind him for his pipe and matches, during which time the agents exchanged an amused glance.  When he turned back around, both young men were serious faced and attentive.  “I know circumstances demanded that you and Mr. Kuryakin shoulder more responsibility than normal, but that has ceased for the moment.  After you hand in the written report, consider yourselves on leave for the next week.  Get some rest, Gentlemen.  Dismissed.”

The agents stood and walked out of the room.  Napoleon smiled at Miss Rogers while Illya just nodded in her direction.  Once they stepped into the hallway, the fatigue that was vaguely evident in Mr. Waverly’s office became immediately apparent.  Illya began to limp slightly and Napoleon gripped his arm which had been deeply bruised during a fistfight.

“When I get home, I do not want to drink, I do not want to eat; I want to crawl into my bed and sleep for sixteen hours without interruption.”

Napoleon stopped in his tracks.  “ _You_ don’t want to _eat?_ ” he asked incredulously.  “You _must_ be exhausted!”  He began walking again as Illya had never stopped. 

“I feel eighty – five instead of thirty – five.  I just want my bed.  Do not tell me you do not feel the same way.”

“I admit it, Partner Mine, I’m whipped, but I intend to eat dinner.  I’m going to ask Sylvia to join me and, if I’m lucky, and I _am_ , I’ll be waking up in her bed tomorrow morning.”

“I would think you would want to awaken in your own bed.”

Napoleon laughed, “Oh, I’ll get there.  Just not tonight.”

“You never cease to amaze me, Napoleon.”

 


	19. Pinching Pennies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Scissors

“What are you doing with those scissors, Tovarisch?”  Napoleon was spending Thursday evening hanging out with his partner in the Russian’s apartment, much to Illya’s annoyance.  Without a television to capture his attention, Napoleon was spending his time fiddling with the radio, perusing Illya’s books and magazines and watching what the blond was doing like a hawk.

“Cutting out coupons for the supermarket.”

“ _What?_ Why?  You don’t shop!”  UNCLE employed people who kept the apartments of Section IIs clean and stocked with the basics.  Since Illya really did not cook, that was usually enough.  “Don’t tell me you plan to start preparing your own meals.  I mean, you know, other than opening a can.”

The Russian rolled his eyes.  “Mr. Waverly is always telling us how tight the budget is and how we cannot afford to be extravagant.  I have decided to cut some coupons to leave for the housekeeping team to use when they shop for me.”

Napoleon guffawed, “Do you really think that clipping a few ‘ten cents off’ coupons is going to help reduce the budget deficit?”

“It cannot hurt.  And maybe, if enough agents do it, Mr. Waverly might not complain when you submit an expenditure report to replace a silk tie.”

Napoleon thought about that for a few seconds.  “Mind if I borrow those scissors?  There’s a coupon for ten cents off pasta.”    


	20. A Teardrop of Knowledge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Earring

“Um, Illya, what is this?” Napoleon asked as he pulled a pearl earring from between the cushions of The Little Bear, his nickname for the Russian’s couch. 

The blond was sitting at his table, large – framed glasses perched on his nose as he perused his backlog of newspapers.  They had returned from Arizona earlier in the day and after being debriefed by Mr. Waverly and completing their paperwork, Illya shocked the CEA by offering to spring for Chinese takeout.  They had eaten until stuffed and Napoleon had gone to stretch out on the couch.  “What is what, Napoleon?” he replied without taking his eyes off the article he was reading.

“ _This_ is what,” Napoleon remarked at he waved the teardrop shaped earring over his head until Illya finally looked up.  Someone who didn’t know his partner would not have noticed the fleeting “deer caught in the headlights” expression that flitted across Illya’s face, but Napoleon saw it and frowned until an unlikely, but probable, answer began to come to him.  “Oh,” he said as realization struck.  “ _Oh._ ”  He sat up and stared at Illya.  “Ohhhhhhhhh.”

“Napoleon, as scintillating as your conversation is; is there a question or statement you want to make to which I can reply?  Or have you lost the ability to speak?”

Napoleon pointed a finger at Illya.  “You’re sleeping with April!  Why didn’t you tell me?”

“And you figured that out from a single earring hidden in my couch?  Is that not a bit presumptuous on your part?”

Napoleon laughed out loud at that.  “Don’t even try it, Partner Mine!  Don’t even try to go on the offensive!  There are only two females who have made it past your door: That little kitten* and April.”

“That does not mean…”

“That you two had sex?” Napoleon interrupted.  “This is an expensive earring; April would have to have been, shall we say, _extremely_ distracted not to notice it was missing.  Face it, Tovarisch, you are _busted._ ”

Illya put the newspaper down, folded his hands together on his lap and looked down at the floor.  “What are you going to do?” he asked softly.

The smile faded from Napoleon’s face.  _What am I going to_ do _?,_ he thought incredulously.  “Illya, look at me.”  He waited until the Russian raised his eyes to him again.  “You’re my friend and so is April.  Do you honestly think I would do something to _hurt_ you?”  At the bloom of red that began to show on Illya’s face he said, “I’m _happy_ for you, both of you.”

“You are?”

Napoleon came to sit at the table for Illya.  “You’re not like me, Illya and neither is April.  I hop in and out of women’s beds all the time because that is who I am.  You, on the other hand, are far more discriminating.  If April was in your bed it’s because you genuinely care and I’m guessing, the feeling is mutual.”

For the first time since they began this conversation, Illya smiled slightly.  “Yes, I believe it is.  I am sorry if I seemed secretive, but April and I decided we wanted to keep this between us.  Are you going to tell Mark?”

“This is not my story to tell, Partner.  I suggest you let April know that I know and she can decide whether or not to tell her partner.  If she does, I think you’ll both find you underestimated him, too.”

Illya put a hand on Napoleon’s shoulder.  “I am sorry; I do trust you.  You are a better friend to me than I am to you.”

Napoleon’s smile was bright and full.  “Yes, I am and don’t you ever forget it!  Again.”  He stood, ruffled the blond’s hair and announced, “I’m going home.  See you in the morning.”

After Illya reset the alarms after Napoleon’s exit, he walked over to his phone and dialed a number.  When it was answered he said, “Hello, how are you?  I am fine.  Yes, we get back earlier this evening.  Napoleon knows about us.  He found your pearl earring.  No, he will not say anything.  Think about telling Mark.  I will see you at work.  Goodnight.”

 

*This story references my drabble “The Crush” and my tale “The Next Level.” 

              


	21. On Balance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Balance Beam

Napoleon watched silently as Illya moved smoothly and effortlessly along the balance beam that stood at one end of UNCLE HQ’s gym.  The Accounting Department had finally approved the addition of gymnastic equipment to help agents stay in shape.  In addition to the balance beam, there were even and uneven parallel bars, and a set of rings.  When the Russian had realized the equipment had arrived, he came into work with a gym bag containing warm up pant with stirrups that fit him extremely well, a fact that soon found Napoleon sitting amongst several secretaries all watching his partner with admiration and more than a little lust.

 _How do they find out?,_ he thought amusedly while Illya executed a perfect dismount, landing lightly on his feet beside the beam.  He walked over to the rings and began to dry off his hands with a towel.  “Excuse me, Ladies, I believe that’s my cue,” he said before leaping down from the bleachers to stand behind his partner.  At Illya’s nod, he placed his hands on his waist and lifted him until he grasped the rings.

The blond pulled himself up until his body was being held by the strength of his straightened arms.  He lifted his legs until they were parallel to the floor, feet arched in a straight continuation of his legs.  He held that position for a few seconds before lowering himself down into a cross.   Finally, he swung his legs up until he was in a handstand before swinging himself into two revolutions prior to releasing the rings, somersaulting in the air and landing solidly on the mat.  A spontaneous round of applause from the women caused him to look at the bleachers.  Blushing furiously, he grabbed his towel and made swiftly for the men’s locker room.

“Well, ah, I do believe the show is over,” Napoleon announced.  “I think it’s time for all of us to return to work.”  He grinned as the women moaned “Aww!” and left the area.  Fifteen minutes later, Illya re – emerged from the locker room freshly showered and wearing his suit.  Joining him on the floor Napoleon said as they exited, “If you’re going to keep this up as your new exercise routine, I’m going to start selling tickets to your workouts.”  

The Russian rolled his eyes and kept on walking.  “Blockhead,” he muttered under his breath.

 


	22. Mr. Popularity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Phone

Napoleon groaned when the phone rang for what seemed the hundredth time that morning.  “Please answer that, Tovarisch, it’s probably another secretary wanting me to escort her to UNCLE’s dinner dance.  Whose stupid idea _was_ that, anyway?”

“Your superior’s,” Illya replied as he answered the phone.  “Kuryakin.  No, he is not.  I will tell him,” he said before hanging up.

Napoleon held up his hand.  “Don’t tell me; I’ve made up my mind who I’m taking.”

“Who?”

“You.  Unless you have a date, let’s go stag so I can avoid alienating my dating pool.”

“You are lucky I like you.”


	23. Not Much Time Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Beach

“Today is the last day of July,” Napoleon griped, “and I haven’t had a chance to go to the beach _once._ ”

“Napoleon, I would not know what to do if I did not hear at least one complaint from you daily.”

“Just because you like to be as white as a polar bear doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t want a tan.  Women find my tan quite attractive and I’m looking positively pasty.”

“If THRUSH captures us in August, I will tell them you wish to be interrogated in the sunlight.”

“You really are a smart – alecky Russian.”

“ _Da._ ”


	24. Collector's Item

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is Record.

Illya perused the used record bins at J&R Music World with the well - trained eye of an experienced collector. He wanted to add to his jazz collection, but he did not wish to spend a lot. After spending the better part of an hour at his task, he finally selected a copy of Thelonious Monk's 1956 album with Sonny Rawlins. He paid for his treasure and headed home to play it.

Napoleon heard the music before he knocked on the door. Entering he said, "That's Monk, I like that record."

"There is hope for you yet, Napoleon."

"Thank you."


	25. Sofa, So Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is Sofa.

“Illya, far be it from me to spend your money, but don’t you think it’s about time to retire the Little Bear?”

“I happen to _like_ my sofa, Napoleon. It is very comfortable.”

“It is very lumpy. And _furry._ Until you dragged this thing in here from who knows where, I had never seen a furry couch before.”

Illya laughed as he came in from the kitchen with a cup of tea and sat on the opposite end of the sofa from Napoleon. “I will have you know I bought it at the Flea Market on Ninth Avenue. It is made very well and will last forever. And what do you mean ‘far be it from me to spend your money?’ As much as I lend you, you are _always_ spending my money!” He grinned slyly. “Maybe if you pay me back, I could consider buying a new couch.”

“As long as I owe you money, you will never be broke, Tovarisch. Besides, with all the cash _you_ have, what I owe you amounts to a mere bags of shells.”*

“That money is for my old age, if I live to see it. Not everyone is an heir apparent; some of us must save for a rainy day.”

Napoleon smiled broadly. “You forget that Aunt Amy has bequeathed you some of her possessions.** That makes you an heir, too.”

“So it does.” He sipped his tea, picked up his magazine and began flipping through the pages. He read while Napoleon took the opportunity to close his eyes and doze. Ten minutes later he said, “Napoleon.”

“Hmmm?”

“I have been thinking. Perhaps, it might not be a bad thing to replace this sofa. April spends time here now and I want her to feel comfortable.”

Napoleon stood up and stretched. “Remind me to thank April for dating you. Come on, let’s go.”

Illya frowned. “Go where?”

“It’s Thursday night; the stores are open late. I don’t want you changing your mind so let’s go find us a sofa, Partner Mine. And after we do, maybe we can talk about your coffee table.”

The Russian rolled his eyes. “I may live to regret this.”

 

*ref. “Of Salary and Taxes”

**ref. “The Good Stuff” and “Sunday Afternoon at Aunt Amy’s”


	26. A Bad Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt # 34: Alcohol

Napoleon entered the Russian’s apartment and though the sun had set two hours earlier, no light emanated from anywhere. He was certain Illya had gone home after debriefing. The mission, though successful, had collateral damage the likes of which neither had seen before. _Six innocents dead. Teenagers, all of them._ He recalled the horror on his partner’s face when he realized that his explosives had been the cause. The Cleanup Crew charged with wiping away the evidence of the THRUSH satrap ever being in the abandoned mine outside of Clay, West Virginia came across their bodies. From what was gathered, it was determined that the three couples were on a hillside known as a local Lover’s Lane when the satrap’s destruction created a sinkhole that sucked them down into it. Searchers from the town found the bodies two days later, though by then, all evidence of THRUSH and UNCLE being there had been removed.

 _Illya was devastated when Mr. Waverly called us in to inform us about those kids. He said that UNCLE had arranged to send each family an anonymous donation that would not only cover funeral costs, but remove quite a bit of financial burden._ He remembered his partner sitting there looking even paler than usual, the only outward proof of the inner turmoil he was feeling. “It is too bad UNCLE cannot anonymously replace their children,” he had grunted, much to the annoyance of the Old Man.

“Mr. Kuryakin, no one is happy with this unfortunate turn of events, but acting morose about it gets us nowhere. You will be off duty for the next seventy – two hours effective immediately. You will report for duty in the labs and you will return to the field when Psychiatric clears you. Dismissed, Gentlemen.”

The Russian stood and walked out quickly followed by Napoleon. When he caught up Illya held up his hand and said, “No, I do not wish to speak about this now.” He didn’t say another word as they returned to their office and he gathered his coat up and exited.

Napoleon stepped farther into the apartment and stepped through the kitchen doorway. He froze as he felt the tip of a gun press against his temple. “Illya?” he said quietly as he froze in place. “It’s me.”

A hot blast of vodka infused breath hit him in the face as the gun moved away and the kitchen light came on to reveal an obviously inebriated Russian weaving slightly and holding a bottle of Stoli. Napoleon watched as Illya tried unsuccessfully to replace his gun in his holster. He finally held it out to the American and mumbled something that sounded like, “Take it.”

“I think I’d better,” he agreed and did. He put an arm around the smaller man and led him to the bedroom. Once there, he released his grip and the blond plopped onto his bed and fell back. When Napoleon grabbed at the bottle to prevent it spilling, he sat up and slurred, “Not done with that, ‘Poleon. Still thirsty.”

Gently prying it away, Napoleon replied, “Methinks you’ve had quite enough. Get undressed and get in bed. You need to sleep it off, my friend.”

“Nyet! I vant more alcohol!”

“I’m afraid to think of how much alcohol you’ve consumed to get you this drunk,” Napoleon muttered. Louder he said, “You couldn’t know, Illya. It’s a terrible thing, but you couldn’t have known. It was a horrible, senseless accident.”

“I am a babykiller! Who am I saving the world for if I am murdering the future? I should be shot! I should go to that town, Clay? I should go to Clay and offer to let them shoot me dead.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and drained the last of it. “Call the liquor schtoor for me and have them deliver another Schtoli.”

Wordlessly, Napoleon removed the bottle from Illya’s hand and dropped it into the wastebasket next to the bed. He bent down and untied the blond’s shoes and slid them off his feet followed by his socks.

“What are you doing?” Illya demanded to know.

“Undressing you for bed. You have had enough alcohol for tonight and probably for the week. It’s time for all good and extremely drunk Russians to go to bed.” He worked swiftly to remove his partner’s trousers and turtleneck and urged him under the covers. “I’ll be sleeping on that little bear you call a couch. Don’t even _think_ about going anywhere. I’ll hear you.”

Illya grumbled, “All right” before settling into bed.

“Listen to me, if you can, Illya. You are _not_ a babykiller. You are the best UNCLE agent I know, the most dedicated and the most committed. What happened in West Virginia could have happened to anyone. You’ll be cleared for fieldwork again soon and you will be as committed to serving UNCLE as you ever were. I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

“Night. ‘Poleon? Have you killed Innocents before?”

Napoleon stood in the doorway and hung his head. “Yes, sadly, I have.”

“Tell me.”

“Some other time, Tovarisch. Get some sleep.”

 


	27. Nine Aspirin a Day Makes a Partner Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Aspirin

Illya popped three aspirin and swigged vodka to force them down his throat.

“How many does that make today?”

“Nine.”

Napoleon grimaced. “I don’t want you taking anymore, especially with alcohol.”

The blond snorted, “In the GRU, all I had was vodka to handle pain.”

“You’re not there, anymore. No more today.”

“Is that an order?”

“If it has to be. I’m staying here tonight, too. Refusing Medical when you might have a concussion isn’t very smart.”

Illya sighed, “Are you always such a mother hen?”

“Waverly will kill me if I allow my latest partner to die.”

“I see.”


	28. Little Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Angel

Illya suddenly became aware of someone else in the room. His hand closed on his Walther lying under his pillow while he continued to play possum. He sensed the intruder near the chair to his right. _Good, I have a clear shot!_ Just then, a female voice said softly, “Do not be afraid, _moy brat Illyusha,_ it is I, your sister Fekla.”*

His eyes shot open and he stared incredulously at the little girl sitting calmly, ankles crossed, in the chair. “This is impossible! My sister is dead!” He sat up, bringing the gun to his lap, ready to shoot… _what? A child? No, this is some crazy THRUSH scheme; perhaps they have drugged me somehow. She is a hallucination._ He was startled when she answered as if he had spoken aloud.

“No, Illyusha, I am quite real. I am your Guardian Angel, I have been since the day I died. I did not wish to leave you, but it could not be helped. I want you to know that I am always near you.”

The Russian snorted, “Do you expect me to believe such nonsense? Fine, I will play along. If you are truly always near me, tell me something that I have done recently that no one knows.”

The little blonde girl smiled and he was struck again by how she did look exactly the way he remembered her. She even wore the same clothing Fekla was wearing when she had been killed, but it was neat and clean. “I would rather tell you the reason I decided to reveal myself to you this one time. That was a beautiful letter you wrote, _moy brat._ I was happy that you shared it with Napoleon. I am sorry that I will never meet _him._ I like that he said I must have been the bravest little girl, but I wasn’t. I was just being a big sister protecting the baby brother that she loved more than she loved her own life.”

He couldn’t help it; tears stood in his eyes. _I know she is not real, I know this hallucination is only plumbing my mind and spitting things at me that I already know, but I do miss my sister. I miss her so much!_ He was shocked when she rose from the chair, stood in front of him and then threw her arms around him. _Bozhe moy! Bozhe moy, she’s_ real! “Feklachek, I love you. I love you so much!” he cried as he put his arms around her and hugged back.”

“I am so proud of the man you have become and the good you do. I am always with you, Brother. Goodbye.” She began to fade.

“Nyet! Stay with me! Do not leave!” She disappeared leaving him hugging himself. “Fekla!”

“Illya, wake up! You’re crying in your sleep! What’s wrong?”

Illya opened his eyes and realized he was in bed with Napoleon. He remembered they were in Portland, Oregon in a motel outside the airport in preparation for their flight back to New York the next morning. He wiped the tears from his face and mumbled, “Sorry I woke you.”

Napoleon patted his shoulder and replied, “It’s okay. Want to talk about it?”

“I was dreaming about my sister Fekla. It, _she_ , seemed so real.” He was about to say something else when his eyes went to the chair next to the bed and widened in shock. A hair ribbon, the same color that Fekla had worn laid on the cushion. _I could swear that was not there when I went to bed._ He reached over and grabbed it as he stood up and slipped it smoothly into his jacket pocket as he kept his back to his partner. _I think I will keep this._

He went to the bathroom and when he came back, he told Napoleon, “It was a good dream; those were tears of happiness at seeing her again. I am fine. Go back to sleep.”

Napoleon turned over on his stomach. “’Kay. G’night, Partner.”

“Goodnight.” As he drifted back to sleep his last thought was, _Good night, dear Fekla._

 

*refers to my story “The Letter.”


	29. A Quick Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is: Farm

“Did I ever tell you, Luv, that I wanted to own a farm?” Mark was dressed all in black as he sat hunched down in the driver’s seat of their car holding a pair of binoculars to his eyes. It was almost one AM and he and April had been following a suspected mid - level THRUSH hoping he would lead them to a new satrap that had allegedly begun operations in the Inwood section of Manhattan. Right now, he was having dinner so they had some time to kill.

April sat beside him wearing her own binoculars. “No, you’ve never mentioned it before, Darling. What made you think of it, now?”

“Well, I’m bloody bored for one thing. A few nights ago, I was watching the telly and there was a program on about farming and it just looked like such an idyllic life and it reminded me that I wanted to raise sheep when I was a child. My mum thought it was a great idea.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would have been a wonderful farmer. Your sheep would have adored you.”

“Aye, right up until I took them to the slaughterhouse.”

“What a terrible thing to say!” April laughed, “Terrible, but funny.” She was about to say something else when she noticed their bird exiting the restaurant. “Start the car, Darling. There he goes.” As Mark began to follow at a discreet distance April said, “We’re definitely discussing you and your farm dreams over drinks sometime soon.”


	30. Momentarily Sidetracked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prompts are Knife and Rope.

Napoleon came to slowly; as usual when he found himself in situations like this, he kept his eyes closed and concentrated on what his other senses were telling him. He could feel that he was still clothed ( _That’s a relief!)_ while a quick flex of his wrists told him he was bound. He strained his ears and though he could hear muffled voices at least one room away, he heard nothing in his immediate surroundings. He took a chance and opened his eyes to mere slits. Seeing no one, he opened his eyes completely and looked around.

He was alone lying on the floor where he could tell from the marks on it that he had been dragged and dropped. There was a window on the opposite wall and from the little he could see, he surmised that he was no more than three stories above the ground. He checked his bindings and noted that his ankles were also tied with the same type of rope he’d felt on his wrists.

He hefted himself up against the wall and was surprised to see that he was not hobbled. He smiled to himself as he thought, _Amateurs!_ He used the wall to brace against as he raised himself to his feet. As quietly as he could, he quickly hopped to the window and peeked outside. He was in fact, on the fourth floor of what looked like a tenement building in uptown Manhattan. There was a fire escape one window over that he felt confident he leap to safely. He looked down to the street and didn’t see anyone on the street who looked like he was on guard. _Seems clear._

He bent down, untied one shoe and held the back of it awkwardly as he slipped it off his foot. Hidden under the lining was a flat, razor sharp throwing knife which he used to cut the ropes on his ankles and wrists and swiftly opened the window. Just as he jammed his foot back into his shoe, the door to the room opened and a man with a drawn gun began to enter.

The next few seconds turned into slow motion for the UNCLE agent. It took a nano – second for him to realize it was not Illya to the rescue. He would swear later that the knife was leaving his hand before he consciously decided to throw it. It caught him in the throat simultaneously silencing and killing him. As it was flying across the room, Napoleon was already halfway out the window. Before the man hit the floor, he had leapt to the fire escape, swung over the railing and was racing down the stairs. He got to the second floor, rode the ladder down to the sidewalk level and took off running down the street. The few pedestrians who had noticed what he was doing never broke stride. _I do love New Yorkers sometimes!_

He stopped running when he was about two blocks away so as not to draw attention to himself. He was looking disheveled; his suit was ruined. _Again! The Old Man’s going to kill me. This is the third one this month!_

He kept looking over his shoulder and when he felt somewhat safe, he stepped into a phone booth, closed the door and began clicking the cradle in rapid succession until the operator answered. “Operator, I need to make a collect call. It’s ah, kind of an emergency.”

Illya was sitting in his office when the phone rang. “Agent Kuryakin, Agent Solo just called collect to say he is taking a cab to HQ and has no money because he’d been kidnapped. He said he’s alright, but he needs you to meet him outside to pay the cabbie.”

“Thank you. I’m on my way.” He quickly called Agent Del Floria to apprise him that Napoleon was on his way and he would need cash from the drawer to pay the cab. A few minutes later, he bounded up the stairs to the sidewalk and handed cash to the driver as Napoleon exited the cab. As they entered the tailor shop and went through into Reception Illya asked, “What happened to you?”

The CEA leaned forward as his badge was pinned on. “You know, I’m not really sure. I overheard a bit of my abductors’ conversation and it sounded like they were fairly new to the THRUSH organization and wanted to make a splash by landing a whale and I just kind of fell into their lap. Unfortunately for them, they hadn’t learned the fine art of tying someone up or posting guards.”

As they walked toward their office Illya observed, “You, on the other hand, are _not_ new to The Game and the very idea that you were captured by these, these _children_ tells me that you might be getting just a bit too complacent. You must remain vigilant, my friend. UNCLE would be diminished greatly if it were to lose you.”

Napoleon sat at his desk and remarked, “Tovarisch, be careful. That almost sounded like you might miss me if I were gone.”

The Russian snorted as he reached for paper to type up his share of the report, but he let the grin slip from his face for just a moment. “I would miss you. Just be careful.”

“I will.”


	31. Seattle Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts are Rain and Seattle.

Napoleon was sitting in a chair looking out the window of his second floor motel room in Seattle at the rain that was falling steadily from a pewter – colored sky. It had been raining off and on since he arrived last night and it was affecting his mood. _I am so sick of Accounting and their complaints about my “extravagant” spending! I’m supposed to be a reasonably successful businessman and they have me in this dump? I should at least be in the Sorrento or the Mayflower Park!_ He stood and stretched and walked around to recheck his alarms before resettling into his chair. _My God, it rains so much! How do people live here?_

Before he could answer himself, his communicator began to chirp. “Solo.”

Illya’s voice came through loud and clear. “Hello, has anyone contacted you yet?”

“No. Where are you?”

“Portland, Oregon. There’s a bird’s nest operating here. I will…visit it tomorrow and then be on my way to Washington State.”

“Great. This place is depressing. I’ll be happy to see your unsmiling face. _That’s_ how miserable Seattle is.”

He could hear his partner’s laugh. “Do not worry, Napoleon. You will not be bored long.”

“Thank God.”


	32. Tripped Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts are Cast and Sling

“Napoleon, I promise you, if you say ‘I’m sorry’ one more time, your _other_ arm will be in a sling! It was an accident, plain and simple, and considering that we had just escaped being blown to smithereens, I consider it a small price to pay.”

The two agents were currently roommates in Medical. Napoleon’s right arm had been badly strained when he had fallen onto Illya and the doctors wanted him to keep it immobilized for a week. Unfortunately, the blast had thrown him so violently into the smaller man that he had broken several bones in the Russian’s foot. Illya was sporting a cast on his left leg which was now elevated off the bed by a sling of its own.

The CEA winced as he looked at Illya’s cast that extended up to his mid – calf. “I _know_ it was an accident. I just…” He lifted his left arm and flapped it in frustration. “I hate the idea that I’m the reason you’re in a cast.”

The Russian flopped his head back onto his pillow. “Everyone knows you are a big, clumsy ox!” he snorted as he guffawed at his own joke. When he noticed he was the only one laughing, he sobered up and asked, “What is going on with you, Napoleon?” He turned wide blue eyes to stare into hazel ones. “Why are you beating yourself up in this manner?”

Napoleon shifted so that he was sitting up against the headboard of his bed. “I feel guilty. It’s one thing to get hurt by THRUSH or someone else during an affair. It’s another thing to get hurt by your own partner. It’s not right.” He ran his hand through his hair to push his forelock back under control. “It’s bad enough that you seem to get the worst of it when it comes to injuries, but getting hurt by _me_ …”

“Listen to me, Solo, and listen well. I have had enough of your whining! The concussion of the blast knocked you off your feet and into me. Your body hitting mine caused me to hit the ground at an odd angle which allowed me to break three small bones in my foot. I am wearing a cast to correct the problem and when it is fixed, the cast will be removed. The end.”

Before he could get a reply, Dr. Jameson entered. “Good news, Gentlemen; you two can be discharged if you stay together to take care of each other. Otherwise, you’ll need to stay here another week. Can I apprise Mr. Waverly that you two are leaving?”

Napoleon looked at Illya and smiled. “I think we’d be more relaxed in my place. There’s enough room so we won’t get sick of each other.”

The Russian grinned evilly. “We will see. Yes, Doctor, please let Mr. Waverly know that we accept the conditions and I will be staying at Agent Solo’s for the next week. Or two.” He watched as the Chief Medical Officer shrugged his shoulders in his “Section IIs are all crazy” way and walked out the door. “Moy droog, I am going to milk your guilt for all it is worth. I think for dinner tonight we should have Chinese delivered. For breakfast tomorrow, I will crack the eggs for you…”

Napoleon thought as he listened to his partner drone on about all the food he was either going to cook or pay for, _I think I have created a monster._


	33. Rough Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts are Oxygen and Submarine. This story also references Chapter 3: There Are None So Blind.

“I am not happy, Illya.” Their current predicament found them tied up on their backs in a crate that was currently being bounced around on the back of a truck that their THRUSH captors had informed them was taking them to a private airstrip. From there, they would be loaded onto a private jet and flown directly to the Central Committee. The local satrap leader whose goons had captured them was disappointed that he could not harm them, but he had let them know before hammering the lid shut that their well-being was going to be short – lived. Neither man felt the need to tell him that the transponder planted under Napoleon’s skin was bringing Mark, April and probably a Strike Team closer and closer.

Illya was lying quietly shoulder to shoulder with his partner. The crate was wide, but not very deep. A hard bounce had proven that there was only about two inches between the lid and their noses. “When I was serving on a submarine in the Russian Navy, I had a top bunk. The ceiling was about this far away. I had to sleep on my back or my stomach; to attempt sleeping on one’s side meant you wedged yourself between the bed and the ceiling.”

“Did you feel like you didn’t have enough oxygen?” Napoleon asked quietly.

“Do not worry, moy droog,” the Russian soothed, “this crate is not airtight; we have more than enough to breathe. I just hope we are rescued before we get to the airfield.”

Just then, the truck picked up speed noticeably. The sounds of gunfire reached them. “It would seem, ah, that our fellow agents have found us. I hope they can save us without killing us!”

Suddenly, the truck began to descend rapidly and seemingly, out of control. To Napoleon’s horror, he heard a distinct splash. “Illya! Oh, God, we’re in water!”

Illya had also heard the splash and could hear the panic in the CEA’s voice. He had no idea what was happening outside of the box, so he said the only thing he could think of to center his partner. “I am here, Napoleon. With you. You are not alone, moy brat. We have each other,” he said quietly and with conviction. He heard the older man exhale deeply.

“Thanks, Partner Mine. If this is the death of us, I’m glad we’re together.”

They began to hear scraping sounds along the lid and sides, voices and more splashing as the crate began to tilt around crazily. A couple of minutes passed before they could feel solid earth underneath them. A moment later, the lid was pried off by a crowbar wielding Mark Slate.

The sudden daylight assaulted their eyes and forced them closed, but it was alright as they had recognized Mark and knew they were safe. Illya could feel the ropes that bound him being cut and opened his eyes to the welcome sight of April Dancer. “Hello, Darling. You two gave us quite a chase. Luckily, the dirty bird driving the car zigged when he should have zagged and plunged down an embankment into this pond.” She reached over and began to cut Napoleon’s bindings. “The driver and the guy riding shotgun were knocked out against the windshield so the Strike Team restrained and removed them for interrogation later. How are you, Napoleon?”

Napoleon stood and began rubbing his wrists. “Never better,” he said with a smile as he shot his cuffs. He reached down to help the still sitting Russian. “Okay, Tovarisch?”

“Yes, I am fine, Napoleon. Mark, April, how did you get here?”

“Mark flew one of the choppers and we met the Strike Team attached to the Boston office. Come on; let’s hitch a ride to the chopper with the team and head home.”

Hours later, the two agents were sipping drinks in Napoleon’s apartment. Mark had landed the helicopter on the helipad on HQ’s roof and they had showered and changed into the extra suits they kept in their office so they were presentable when the Old Man debriefed them. After putting together their written report and submitting it, they had signed out and headed straight to the penthouse to de – stress and unwind. They had not really spoken since leaving Waverly’s office; instinctively, they had known they wanted to spend the evening together. Silently, they had prepared their drinks and gone into the living room to sit.

Napoleon swirled the liquid in his glass and looked finally at his companion. “We certainly had a day today, didn’t we?” He flipped his forelock back by running a slightly shaky hand through his hair. “For a moment, I thought it was the end and I couldn’t believe two of my greatest fears were going to figure into it.”

The Russian grimaced. “I know about your fear of drowning. What is the second one?”

“You know that one, too. Blindness. We were in the dark; I couldn’t see you or anything, at all. All I could do was lie there and listen to the water, wondering when we would sink and it would come rushing in…” He shook himself as a chill ran through him. “I was terrified and you knew it. What you said about being with me…meant a lot.”

Illya gave him a slight smile. “You are my partner, it is my job to help you focus on the task at hand. I was confident that we would be saved in time.”

Napoleon snorted, “You were? Usually, I’m the cockeyed optimist! Am I rubbing off on you?”

Illya rolled his eyes. “Do not flatter yourself. I needed both of us to remain calm. If you had given in to your fears, I…might have given into mine. I would have felt…abandoned.”

Nodding knowingly, Napoleon stood up and went to look at the darkening sky. After awhile, he said, “We are some pair. I wonder what the shrinks would make of this conversation.”

“Please, they would all want to write papers to present at the next Summit meeting to inform all the Section Is that Section IIs are human, after all.”

“I ah, believe they already know that.”

“I am sure they do, but the Psych Unit would try to convince them that they just discovered it to be true!” Illya laughed. Sobering quickly he said, “Seriously, Napoleon, I am glad I was there with and for you today.”

“So am I, Illya. And, just so you know, I’ll never abandon you.”

“I know.”

 

 


	34. Dollars and Sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts are: Coin and Bill

Illya and Napoleon were walking down West Thirty – Eighth Street enjoying the last gasps of a beautiful Indian Summer October day as they headed back to HQ after enjoying lunch at an eat – in deli they both liked. The CEA was regaling his quiet partner with the story of how he had met the girl he was going out with that night at the supermarket.

“There she was standing over by the melons, and by comparison, _her_ me…” Napoleon realized his partner was no longer beside him. Glancing back, he saw the Russian down on one knee picking something up from the sidewalk. “What are you doing?”

Illya stood and rejoined Napoleon as they continued down the street. “I stopped to pick up some coins,” he said by way of explanation, “I found fourteen cents.”

“Fourteen cents? Let me alert the media,” he teased. “I can’t believe you stooped down on a busy New York sidewalk to pick up four pennies and a dime.”

“Two nickels,” the blond corrected. “And I cannot believe you, Napoleon. Are you saying that if you had seen the change on the sidewalk instead of me, you would not have claimed it?”

“Probably not.”

Illya shook his head. “Sometimes, Napoleon, it is so obvious that you grew up in privilege; that you have no idea what it is like not to have. Let me ask you this: What is the minimum amount of money you _will_ stoop to collect?”

 _Oh, man! I’ve put my foot in my mouth again! He has to think I’m an_ idiot! He could feel his face flush with embarrassment. _It was bad enough when I teased him about fixing things with duct tape a few months ago*, and now here I am, again, coming off like some fat cat._ He could feel the blond’s eyes upon him as they continued walking. _Well, I’m not going to compound my mistake by lying._ “A buck. If I see a dollar bill on the sidewalk, I will bend to get that,” he answered truthfully.

“So, if you were to see quarters or dimes, you would not mind if I claimed them?” When Napoleon shook his head Illya said, “Then this is what we will do; if you see coins, point them out to me. I learned awhile ago that if you have enough coins, you can exchange them for bills.” A sly grin briefly crossed his face. “In the time we have been partnered, I have noticed that you are sometimes short of cash before payday. The next time you ask me for a short term loan, I will give you whatever spare change I have found. In fact,” he laughed as he held out his hand, “you may borrow this if you like for your date tonight.”

The taller man laughed out loud as he clapped the Russian on his back. He was grateful that Illya had realized that Napoleon had meant no harm and felt relaxed enough in their year old partnership to just give him the business. “You are okay by me, Kuryakin,” he opined as they continued on their way.

 

*ref. my Picfic Tuesday tale "Good as New"


	35. Sideline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts are: Typing and Manuscript

Stephanie Brown sat nervously at the round conference table in Mr. Waverly’ office. The only thing that made this not the worst workday ever was that he wasn’t there. In front of her sat her boss, Lisa Rogers; the Chief Enforcement Agent Napoleon Solo and his partner and Second in Command of Section Two, Illya Kuryakin. She was shaking in her boots. She had never actually spoken to or formally met these men and the fact that they were gazing at her serenely only underscored in her mind how dangerous Section IIs could be. The reason they were meeting was sitting in a manila envelope in front of Mr. Solo.

Miss Rogers spoke first. “Miss Brown, I asked you here to speak with the CEA and Mr. Kuryakin. They have questions they would like you to answer.”

“Sure,” she replied with a confidence she didn’t feel, “How can I help you, Gentlemen?”

“Well, Miss ah Brown…Do you mind if I call you Stephanie?” he asked as he flashed her a dazzling smile.

 _Oh, my goodness, the man is gorgeous!,_ she thought and immediately began to blush as if she had spoken aloud. “Yes, I mean _no_. Stephanie is fine.”

“Good. So tell me, Stephanie, what this is,” he said as he pulled a thick pile of papers from the envelope, “Miss Rogers told me that this was on your desk yesterday.”

“That’s my manuscript! Writing is my sideline. I do my typing during my lunch hour. I’m writing a novel; Miss Rogers knows that!”

Illya leaned forward and glared at the woman. “And did Miss Rogers know that you were using affair reports to write your novel?” He took the papers from Napoleon and removed the large paper clip. “Here beginning on page forty – two, you have an American spy and his Russian partner dealing with Neo – Nazis in South America with the Russian, in disguise, torturing his partner! Where did that idea come from, Miss Brown?”

Stephanie was flustered by the handsome man with the icy blue eyes. “Um, I didn’t think it would be a problem. I didn’t use anyone’s real names!”

Miss Rogers spoke, “Miss Brown was informed when she accepted employment here that _everything_ that comes across her desk for typing is confidential. Isn’t that right, Miss Brown?”

Napoleon raised his hand to get everyone’s attention. “I think it would be counterproductive to berate Miss Brown.” He turned to look at her and smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and caused a little icy knot of fear to settle itself in her stomach. “I suggest that we let you off with a warning that if it’s discovered that you have dipped into the affair files again for ideas for your writing ideas, you will be deprogrammed and fired immediately. However, the final decision in this matter rests with Miss Rogers.”

The Russian leaned back in his chair, never taking his eyes off her. He reminded her of a large cat watching a small bird that it’s contemplating eating. Still staring at her, he directed his comment to Miss Rogers. “Perhaps you should tell Miss Brown about that ‘May Waltzer’ nonsense from two years ago. Mister Waverly was very upset about that book being released. He will have no patience if there is a repeat of that situation.”

“Please, Miss Rogers, I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again. Please don’t fire me!” Stephanie exclaimed, “I won’t do anything like that again!”

Lisa looked at the two agents and nodded as if they had reached a mutual decision. “You will forfeit this manuscript and you will no longer be allowed to work on your writing while you are in this building. Do you have any other… _stories_ you’ve written using the files?”

“No, Miss Rogers. I _swear!_ ”

“Good. Since this is a first offense, I will overlook it; but if you do it again…”

Stephanie help up her right hand. “I won’t, I promise. Thank you. Thank you all. May I go now?”

Illya and Napoleon glanced at each other for a second before they both nodded to Lisa. “That will be all, Miss Brown,” Lisa said, “There’s some work on my desk for you. I’ll expect it by close of business.” The three veteran employees had to hide smiles as the chastised secretary practically ran out of the office. Lisa turned back around and said, “Thank you, Gentlemen. I don’t think we’ll have to worry about her.”

“Ah, you’re very welcome, Lisa. Come on, Illya. We need to prepare for our Section II meeting.” The two men walked out with Lisa and waved as she settled herself at her desk and they continued out into the hallway and towards the elevator bank. When they got there, they were the only ones waiting. “Stephanie probably ran down the stairs. Too bad,” he sighed as they stepped in and he pushed the button for their floor, “She’s cute. I had wanted to ask her out to lunch. I guess that ship has sailed, now.”

Illya shook his head and smirked, “Only you would be thinking about your libido when UNCLE’s security is at stake. Blockhead.” He looked at Napoleon again and laughed. “Let us see if you can keep your head in the game for _our_ meeting.” He managed to dodge his partner’s punch by jumping out as soon as the door opened.


	36. Scene from a Hot Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts were Date, Blindfold and Chair.

Illya and April hadn’t seen each other in weeks. She and Mark had been on assignments in North and South America while the Chief Enforcement Agent and his partner had applied their particular skill set to affairs in Eastern Europe. When Illya and Napoleon entered Del Floria’s that Friday morning, Sal greeted them happily and mentioned in passing that Agents Slate and Dancer had entered a half hour earlier. Sal hadn’t noticed any change in the Russian’s demeanor, but Napoleon saw the quick flash of a smile at April’s name and knew it to be the equivalent of the blond kicking up his heels in joyous celebration.

As they walked toward the Commissary after receiving their badges, Napoleon had stated, “I guess this means that our dinner is off, huh?”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not. We have seen entirely too much of each other lately. In fact, I’m fairly confident that a certain Miss Stevens is waiting for me to arrange a date with her even as we speak. I will be fine, Tovarisch; go make a date with April.”

Illya had glanced at his superior from under his bangs and smiled shyly. “Thank you, moy droog. I owe you dinner,” he promised before changing direction and heading to April and Mark’s office.

She had waited for him while he and Napoleon gave their verbal reports to Mr. Waverly. Afterwards, they had taken a cab downtown to Chinatown to indulge in moo shu pork at Yo Fat’s on Mulberry. After gorging themselves, they had walked around Canal Street taking in the sights and sounds and reconnecting with each other. When he sensed April was becoming a little tired, he stepped off the curb to hail a cab and after guiding her into it, he gave her address as its destination. She had patted his leg in appreciation; even though they had been seeing each other for a few months, she still felt most comfortable when they were together at her place.

Foregoing his usual vodka, Illya was sipping Pinot Grigio wine as was April. He had settled into her bedroom chair and was watching her as she unpacked her suitcase. She pulled out a long scarf and looking sideways at him, she said, “I have an idea. Are you game?”

He grinned at her. “What do you have in mind?” He watched as she moved closer and realized she was about to blindfold him when she raised the scarf to his eyes. “I did not know you were a little kinky, April. I _like_ it.”

Encouraged by the look in his eyes, April stepped between his legs and fastened the material securely around his head, blocking his vision. “Are you alright, Darling?”

“Da. I trust you. Do with me what you will.”

She placed her hand under his chin and lifted his face to meet her lips in a soft kiss. “I like the sound of that,” she breathed into his ear, “I’ll be right back.” She moved away, deftly avoiding the Russian’s arms as she did so and moved to her dresser.

April’s thick white bedroom carpet completely muffled her bare footsteps, but Illya could hear her open a drawer and fumble around. He assumed she was searching for something. He heard the drawer close; it wasn’t until he felt her hand stroke his hair that he realized she was beside him. “Put your arms behind you, Darling,” she ordered and when he complied, she tied them together gently with what felt to him another silk scarf. “Don’t worry, Darling. I will untie you when the time is…right.”

She moved in front of him and he felt her straddle his lap. She leaned forward and began nibbling on his neck. “Is that your gun or are you just happy right now?” She had removed her slacks before sitting and now, she leaned back to unbutton her shirt. Shrugging it off her shoulders, she lightly dragged it across his face before tossing it onto the floor. She watched in fascination as he seemed to try to inhale her very essence from the material.

 _Bozhe moy,_ Illya thought as he felt and smelt what had to be her blouse move across his face. The scent of her perfume flared across all his senses, raising a heat within him that threatened to set all his nerve endings afire. His clothing felt too tight and he shifted beneath her in an effort to get more comfortable.

“You look… _warm_ , Darling. Let me help you,” April whispered as she began unbuttoning his shirt. Opening it wide, she reached down and roughly pulled his undershirt out of his pants. Splaying her fingers, she placed her hands underneath it directly onto his chest, causing him to groan aloud and raise his hips to meet her.

Illya was starting to think he was going mad with desire. “I do _(pant)_ not think I can _(pant pant)_ take much more of this!” he implored.

She moved her body closer and enveloped his upper body and she reached behind him and began to undo the scarf binding his wrists. “I think the time is right, Darling.”

As soon as he was free, the blindfold came off and he wrapped his arms around her, picked her up and kissed her deeply before placing her on the bed. As he removed his clothing, he feasted his eyes on the beautiful sight before him. April, in her black brassiere and panties, sliding closer to the headboard as she pulled back the covers. Wanting _him._ The part of his brain that still could string together an intelligent thought marveled that such a gorgeous woman had chosen him. Just when he thought, _It cannot get better than this!,_ she spoke one last time.

“Do with me what _you_ will, Illya. I am so…ready.”

As he joined her between the sheets, he admitted to himself, _Oh, this is better, much better, so much better._


	37. Any Port in a Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompts are bar, alcohol and Dublin.

Napoleon walked into the bar on Stephen’s Street Lower beside the Mercer Hospital looking for his partner. They were in Dublin after having completed their latest mission. _Everytime I think things are simple, they turn complicated._ THRUSH had kidnapped the family of a wealthy businessman to force him to use his considerable influence with the government to award contracts to two of its cover companies to help the local satrap launder its funds.

The kidnappers had separated the mother from her two children and their nanny, so Napoleon had tracked her down while Illya went after the children. There had been a shootout and while the Russian had succeeded in securing the children’s freedom without them physically harmed, the nanny had been severely wounded in front of them. He had managed to get the traumatized boy and girl and the woman to the hospital where Napoleon and the mother caught up with him. While she comforted the frightened youngsters, Illya quickly informed the CEA about what had transpired.

Napoleon could tell his partner was upset by the innocent’s injuries and after discreetly using his communicator to apprise Mr. Waverly of the mission outcome, he went to find out what he could about the young woman’s condition. When he returned, the grateful businessman was hugging his family and told him the man who saved them had left.

As he took the elevator to the ground floor and headed for the exit, he remembered seeing a pub next door called Bartley Dunne’s and knew for certain that he would find Illya there. Sure enough, he noted the blond mop of his partner’s hair at the very end of the wooden bar. Just as he began to head that way, a man with plucked eyebrows and what appeared to be eyeliner blocked his path. “Hey, Ducks, I ‘aven’t seen _you_ here before. Why don’t you and I grab a booth and get better acquainted? You can buy a lady a drink, can’t you?”

Realizing what kind of bar Illya had found to drink in, Napoleon smiled and shook his head. “That’s not a bad idea, but I already see the man I want over there,” he replied as he used his chin to point to the Russian.

“Oh Sweetie, you don’t want _her_ ,” the man retorted with a toss of his brunet hair which was actually a bit longer than the blond’s, “She’s been doing her best Greta Garbo since she came in here!” At Napoleon’s raised eyebrows and look of confusion, he explained, “You know: I vant to be left _alone!_ ”

Napoleon winked at the younger man. “Now, do I look like the kind of man who doesn’t get what he wants? He’ll talk to me.”

As he started to walk by, the man said, “Oh Honey, I love a confident man! Listen, if he blows you off, and not in a good way, my name is Eamon and I will be sitting _right_ over there.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Napoleon moved farther down the bar and pulled a stool alongside Illya who had a half full bottle of Stolichnaya vodka at his side. Motioning the barkeep for a glass, Napoleon reached over and helped himself to a drink. “It will help you to know,” he said before swallowing the shot, “that the nanny, Miss Brighton, is expected to survive with very little permanent damage, if any.” The alcohol hit his stomach with a slight punch. “How you can consume large quantities of this paint remover and still have your stomach lining never ceases to amaze me.”

The Russian shrugged. “It is a gift.” Taking another shot he added, “I am glad she will recover, but I wish I could have spared the children the sight of all that blood.”

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Hey, do you realize this is apparently a bar for homosexuals? I was hit on before I got three steps inside.”

“So was I, but I made it clear, quite firmly, that I am not in the mood to…make new _friends._ ”

“I see. Well, Partner Mine, Mr. Waverly told me that we are booked on a flight to New York that’s departing,” he checked his watch, “in less than three hours. We need to go get packed and head to the airport.” He put his arm around Illya’s shoulders and leaned in to whisper into his ear, “So, ‘Lover,’ you and I are going to walk very cozily to the door.”

The smaller man snorted and poured one last shot. “And why would I do that, pray tell?” he asked before downing it and putting the glass down.

Napoleon knew his reflection in the mirror behind the bar could be seen from several vantage points and he had the feeling his companion had attracted the attention of quite a few of the bar’s patrons. He smiled seductively for the benefit of those curious eyes and said, “To prove you are not an Ice Prince and _I_ get what I want.”

“In that case, pay for my bottle. I am taking it with me.” Illya stood up and put his coat on, slipped the bottle into an inside pocket and buttoned his coat. He stepped back to give Napoleon room to dismount from the barstool and allowed him to place his hand on the small of his back to guide him forward.

As they passed by Eamon, Napoleon suddenly wrapped both arms around Illya and nuzzled his neck, causing Illya to smile quickly before regaining his composure.

“Well, all right!” he said approvingly, “You got through to Greta Garbo! You never did tell me your name, Sweetie.”

Napoleon grinned wickedly as he put both hands on Illya’s shoulders to move him toward the door. “You can just call me Marlene Dietrich.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bartley Dunne's is considered one of the first gay bars in Dublin. Eamon is the name of actor Colin Farrell's gay brother. It has long been rumored that Greta Garbo and Marlene Dietrich had an affair.


	38. Just Tired

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts are Vienna, German, New Delhi, Tokyo, Melbourne, Cape Town and Quebec.

“I have a question: What day is it?”

“I have a better question: What _continent_ is it?”

The two agents were each lying on a bed in an UNCLE guestroom that, for once, had two beds, a fact that had caused them to groan simultaneously with pleasure before collapsing upon them.

Napoleon toed off his shoes without moving anything but his feet. “I think today is Wednesday,” he said before pulling a pillow from underneath the bedspread.

The Russian grunted his acknowledgment. “If it is Wednesday, then we must be in Los Angeles. I did not awaken until the stewardess cleared her throat so I am not sure.”

“Neither am I. All I know is I’ve never been so happy to see an UNCLE cab in my life.” He punched his pillow and crossed his arms on it and then rested his head. “ _How_ many places have we been since we left New York?”

Illya flipped over onto his back. “Let me see. We flew to Vienna to meet the defector to escort him to the New Delhi office a week and a half ago…”

“We were waylaid in Bombay by the East German STASI who tried to lose us by taking Werner to Tokyo instead of straight back to East Germany. They didn’t know my smart Russian partner had placed a homing device in the headband of our man’s hat so we could follow.”

“They looked very surprised to see us at the airport.  They were not some run of the mill secret police, though; they knew how to think on their feet and utilize resources. They split up and bought tickets to Cape Town and Melbourne! Without that homing signal, we would not have known which flight they boarded.”

“Still, flying to South Africa to play catch up was not my idea of fun. I’m glad we were able to contact the Johannesburg office to meet their plane. I was hoping the Old Man would okay us letting the Africa HQ take over so that we could just head home, but no. _We_ had to get him to New Delhi. Sometimes, I wish Mr. Waverly thought a little less of us.”

Illya snorted in amusement. “Now I know you are tired. Be quiet and go to sleep, Napoleon. Our flight to Quebec is in seven hours.”

“ _Why?”_

“Stop whining, you know as well as I do what Mr. Waverly wants us to pick up in Montreal.”

The CEA exhaled mightily. “When we get home tomorrow or next year or whenever it is, I’m putting in for some vacation time so I can stay in my house in my pajamas and in my bed. I’m sick of traveling! At least, I am now. I’ll get past it soon. Are you taking some time, too?”

“Illya?” He lifted his head to see that his partner had fallen asleep. _Okay, then. I’ll put in requests for both of us_ was his last thought before he fell asleep, too.


	39. Wounded Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts are: cane, pants, car, tennis shoes

Illya limped painfully toward his front door in response to Napoleon's knock. Balancing on one foot, he disabled the alarms and unlocked the door. Barely glancing to ascertain that it was, in fact, his partner, he gritted out, "Lock the door," as he hopped over to his couch and plopped on it heavily.

 "What happened to you?" Napoleon asked as he reset the alarms, "Glenna in Reception was telling me you were hurt and in Medical before the door had closed behind me. I went straight there and ran right into Head Nurse O'Malley who harangued me for ten minutes about how my partner had verbally abused her newest nurse to the point of tears before telling me you checked out against medical advice."

The Russian snorted in disgust, reached for his glass and swallowed the contents in one gulp. "If UNCLE is going to hire such thin – skinned medical personnel, they should not be assigned to treat Section IIs! I told that silly girl I was leaving and when I started walking to the door, she stepped in front of me! I raised my hand to move her, but caught myself. She saw the movement, shrank against the wall and called for help. One of the orderlies came and I told both of them that I was in no mood and it would be in their best interests to get out of my way. So, they did."

Napoleon took the opportunity to look his partner over and saw that his left ankle was heavily bandaged. The blond had a look on his face that said quite plainly "Leave me alone," but that was no deterrent to him. In his sternest CEA voice he repeated, "What happened to you?"

Illya turned to glare and noted the look on his partner's face. He sat up, pulled up his pants leg to show that the bandage extended up to his knee and said, "I had driven to Brooklyn per Mr. Waverly's orders to escort Miss Rogers back to Headquarters after her visit with a former secretary who recently gave birth. Apparently, the Section IIIs were involved in some type of training that he wanted them to continue. I picked her up and when we entered the garage, I got out of the car and walked around to hold the door for her. I did not notice there was a hole next to the parking space. I stepped in it and twisted my ankle so badly that I fell and wrenched my knee. She had to use my communicator to have Medical send help."

"Ouch. I assume they X – rayed your leg?"

"Yes, my foot was so swollen, they had to find tennis shoes to fit me and when I was told nothing was broken, I decided to leave. ."

"Well, that makes sense, but what I don't understand is why you were acting even uglier than you usually do when you're trying to leave Medical. What was _that_ about?"

Illya poured himself another drink, scowling the entire time. He took a sip and to Napoleon's astonishment, began to blush furiously. "I was, I _am_ embarrassed! I tripped like some gawky teenage boy on his first date! Miss Rogers actually started to laugh before she realized I was hurt. When the med techs arrived, they made me get on the gurney they had brought. I was wheeled through HQ into Medical like an invalid!"

_Wounded pride,_ Napoleon surmised. "Partner, no one thinks less of you because you tripped and fell into a hole. It's happened to the best of us. Remember the time I was wearing new shoes and slipped on the stairs? I was in traction for a week! Yes, it was embarrassing, but remember this: We are Section IIs. By definition, we are world class killers if we need to be. Who is really going to tease us about our foibles?"

"Perhaps you are right."

"I _know_ I'm right. Nurse O'Malley said you put the fear of God into that poor little nurse _and_ the orderly. So much so that I was asked to bring you this so you wouldn't have to go back to get it." He got up and went to the door where he had left a cane. Handing it over to Illya he said, "Nurse O'Malley said she doesn't want to see you in Medical until your follow up next week."

Trying out the cane, Illya smiled briefly and replied, "I think that is a request I can fulfill."

"Good. I'm putting you on light duty until then." He raised his hand to stop the Russian's protests. "Doc Peterson wanted to have you off duty for the rest of the week and I told him you would drive yourself and by extension me, crazy and I couldn't have that. Light duty or stay at home. Your choice."

"Fine, I'll be in to work bright and early tomorrow. I'll be working in Research and Development."

"Sounds good. Doing what?"

The Russian smiled wickedly. "Trying to figure out how to place a sword inside my cane."


	40. Wounded Pride, Making Amends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompts are: Opera, Gown and Platter.

Illya had indeed spent the next week working in Research and Development.  He wasn’t quite able to put a sword in his cane, but he did manage to put a knife, among other things, in Mark Slate’s umbrella.*  He was still limping; however, his ankle and knee were much improved, enough so that his mood had gotten better.    
  
_Napoleon was right.  If anyone thought my tripping and falling in the garage was humorous, no one said anything to me about it._ He had been prepared to give his patented Death Stare to anyone with the temerity to mention it to him, but it had not been necessary.  He noted the time on the wall clock and knew he had to report to Medical in twenty minutes.  
  
As he removed his lab coat and put his suit jacket on, he thought about the nurse he had frightened so badly and felt a twinge of guilt.  _She was just trying to do her job.  It was not her fault that I was clumsy._  
  
He made his way to the Medical floor to see Dr. Jameson and on an impulse headed to the Nurse’s Station.  As he approached, he recognized the woman writing in a chart as the nurse who had treated him.  He stepped up to the counter and said, “Nurse?”  
  
“Yes,” she replied as she put the pen down and stood.  When she saw who it was, her eyes widened slightly.  “Um, yes?”  
  
Just then, Nurse O’Malley came out of the Supply Closet.  “Can I help you, Agent Kuryakin?”  
  
He turned to her and replied, “Yes.  I wish to speak with Nurse…ah…”  Realizing he didn’t know her name, he pointed.   
  
“Nurse Chapman.”  
  
“Thank you.  I wish to speak with Nurse Chapman privately.  It will not take long.  Doctor Jameson is expecting me.”  
  
“If she doesn’t mind.”  
  
Nurse Chapman drew herself up to her full five foot two inch height.  “I don’t mind, at all.”  
  
Nurse O’Malley nodded.  “You may use my office.”  
  
“Thank you.”  Illya walked ahead of the young woman and held the door so that she could enter first.  
  
She turned around and folded her arms across her chest.  “So,” she said with bravado, “what do you want to say to me?”  
  
Illya could see that despite her tone, she was trembling slightly, either from nervousness or fear he couldn’t tell.  “I want to apologize for my inexcusable behavior last week.  I was angry at my own lack of coordination and took it out on you.  It was not fair and I am sorry.”  
  
She relaxed visibly and allowed her arms to uncross and rest at her sides.  “As well you should be,” she answered sternly, “To be honest, I was afraid you were about to strike me!”  
  
Illya gave her a little half – smile.  “I have never hit a woman who was not attempting to kill me.  I am sorry I gave you the impression that I would.  Am I forgiven?”  
  
She looked him up and down.  “I guess so.”  
  
“Good.  We have not been formally introduced.  My name is Illya Kuryakin.  You may call me Illya, if you like.”  
    
She extended her hand.  “My name is Lorrie Chapman and I will call you Illya only if you call me Lorrie.”  
  
Instead of shaking her hand, the Russian took it between his two as he widened his smile and replied, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lorrie.”  Impulsively, he asked, “Would you give me the pleasure of your company for the opera and dinner tomorrow evening?”  When he saw her eyebrows raise he added, “I promise that I will be the perfect gentleman.”  
  
In response, she smiled and said, “I’ll hold you to that, Illya!”  
  
“Good.  If you will give me your address, I will pick you up at five.  Do you like Chinese food?”  
  
“Yes, I do.  I love it, in fact.”  
  
“I will take you to dinner in Chinatown and then we will see ‘The Pirates of Penzance.’”  
Lorrie quickly wrote down her address on a notepad and handed the paper to him.  “That sounds wonderful.  I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to apologize, let alone ask me on a date.  I’m looking forward to it.”  
  
“As am I.”  He opened the door and motioned for her to go first.  “I have to see the doctor now.  I will see you tomorrow.”   
  
Illya returned to his office to find Napoleon relaxed, feet on his desk, reading agents’ reports.  “You will be pleased to know that Dr. Jameson says that I am ready to go back to work.”  
  
“And _you_ will be displeased to know that Dr. Jameson called me to say he had a feeling you would try to stretch the truth a bit.  You’re only cleared for moderate duty like escort and courier services for the next week and then, after _that_ , barring no setbacks, you’ll be fully fit for duty.”  He laughed at the look on his partner’s face.  “The week will fly by, Partner.  How about you and I check out a movie tomorrow?  The new Coburn movie ‘Our Man Flint’ is playing.”  
  
“Sorry, Napoleon.  Nurse Chapman and I are going out.  We…”  
  
Before he could say any more, Napoleon said, “What!?” and slammed his feet to the floor.  “Isn’t that the one you scared?”  
  
Color was rising in the blond’s cheeks as he replied, “Yes.  I went to Medical a few minutes earlier specifically to apologize.”  
  
“I see that went rather well.  Good for you!  Dinner and a movie?”  
  
“Dinner and the opera.”  
  
“ _That’s_ your idea of seduction?  Boring your date to tears?”  
  
“Gilbert and Sullivan operas are not boring.  They are in English and this one is a comedy.”  
  
Napoleon had recovered from his surprise and picked up the report he had been reading.  “If you say so.  Seriously, I’m glad you and Nurse Chapman are going out.  If it works out, maybe we can double date.”  
  
Illya smiled broadly.  “Is that not what teenagers in high school do?  Are we not too old for double dating?”  He ducked a pencil thrown at him.  “I am going back to the lab.  We can meet for a drink after work.”  
  
“We’re not too old for anything!” the CEA called after him as the door slid shut.  
  
The next evening, Illya rang the bell to Lorrie’s apartment and was greeted by a woman who looked quite different than the nurse he saw in Medical.  She was wearing a black gown with silver shoes and matching bag and her hair was swept up in a flattering ‘do.  When she saw how he was staring, she suddenly felt unsure of her choices and stammered, “I, I hope this is all right.  You _did_ say the opera…”  
  
“You look wonderful.  I hope I do not look too bad.”  
  
Lorrie looked him up and down appreciatively.  He was wearing a black suit and turtleneck.  “I think you look quite stylish. Illya.”  
  
They headed to Chinatown to Illya’s favorite restaurant and shared a subgum wonton platter.  She was pleasantly talkative which actually caused the Russian to slow down his eating to engage in conversation.  He was mildly surprised to discover he was enjoying her company.  
  
He was also pleased that she was passably familiar with the opera and thoroughly enjoyed it.  She accepted when he suggested they get coffee at the Tick Tock Dine and they sat there for two hours drinking and chatting.  _I have to admit,_ he thought, _she is charming._ He glanced at his watch and was shocked that it was almost midnight.  “I better get you home,” he said as he stood to help her up and with her coat, “It is getting late.”  
  
He hailed a cab and told the driver to wait while he escorted her to her door.  “I…guess that means you’re not going to ask to come in,” she said as she unlocked her door.  
  
“I did promise to be the perfect gentleman.”  
  
“So, you did.”  She stood on tiptoe and gently pulled him down so she could kiss his cheek.  “Goodnight, Illya Kuryakin.”  
  
“Goodnight, Lorrie Chapman,” he answered and smiled shyly as she went inside her apartment.  He stood there a moment longer until he heard her turn her bolt lock and then headed back to his cab.  _I think I may ask her out again,_ he mused as he rode home.  _I may just do that._


	41. Bedtime Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prompts are: keys, wallet, kitten, train, folder, hotel, bell, bolt, shower

Napoleon rang the bell at the Front Desk of the Twin Oaks Hotel in Montrose, Colorado.  It was seven – thirty on a Friday night and he and Illya had just concluded a mission that had them crawling around the Black Canyon looking for what was supposed to be THRUSH’s newest satrap.  They had been at it for three days before Mr. Waverly called to apprise them that Intel had made a mistake when they had translated the encrypted message they had intercepted.  The satrap wasn’t located in Gunnison National Park, it was Glen Canyon.  He had assigned agents from the Las Vegas office and informed Napoleon and Illya that they had flights scheduled for the next day from Montrose Regional Airport to Denver International and then on to New York City.  
  
A man stepped out from the back office just as Illya came through the door after parking the car.  “Howdy, Gentlemen!  What can I do you for?”  He looked to be in his seventies; tall, thin and what hair was left on his head was quite white.   
  
“A room for one night.”  
  
“Preferably with two beds,” Illya added as he came closer.  “Queen - sized.”  
  
“I can get you two beds, but they’re full – sized.”  
  
Napoleon was signing the register.  “That’s perfect.”  He handed over his credit card.  “How much?”  
  
“That will be twenty bucks, Mr….”  He studied the card.  “So _lang._ Haven’t heard that name before.”  He put two keys on the counter.  “Room 234.  Top of the stairs, end of the hall.”  
As Napoleon picked up the keys and tossed one to Illya he said, “It’s French and it’s pronounced So _lahnge.”_ He took back his credit card and replaced it in his wallet.  “Is there any place close by to get food?”  
  
“Yup,” the man said as he handed over a menu to Marie’s Diner.  “Food’s good.  Good prices and they deliver to the lobby.”  
  
“Thanks.”  Napoleon picked up his suitcase and followed his partner up the stairs and to the room.  He noted that it was the last one so there was no reason for anyone to walk past it, meaning that approaching footfalls would be meant for them.   
  
Silently, both men swept the room for listening devices and installed their various security alarms.  Satisfied, Napoleon toed off his shoes and relaxed back on the bed he had chosen while the Russian sat at the small table perusing the food choices Marie had to offer.  Tossing the paper folder onto Napoleon’s bed he said, “You have been fairly quiet since we were told to stand down.  Why is that?”  
  
The CEA looked at his partner and then out the window.  He thought about not answering the question, but that would have been hypocritical of him as he always expected Illya to answer his questions truthfully, drilling into him from day one of their partnership that they must be upfront with each other at all times.  Shrugging his shoulders he said, “I’m annoyed because we wasted three days of our lives that we’ll never get back on a wild goose chase in the middle of nowhere because Intel screwed up.  I had two dinner dates I had to cancel, one of them was with Aunt Amy!  You know how I don’t like disappointing her.  It’s bad enough to have to do it, but for it to ultimately be for no good reason…”  He snorted disgust and snatched up the menu.  “Don’t mind me, Partner.  I’m just venting.  Food will make me feel better.”  
  
An hour and a half later, both men were lying on their beds, the remnants of their dinner having been wrapped up and taken out.  Illya, as usual, had eaten his meatloaf, green beans and mashed potatoes with good appetite.  Napoleon, though he ate all of his dinner, didn’t seem as enthusiastic about it.  He was slowly sipping one of the beers of the six pack that had also come from the diner.  
  
“Napoleon.”  
  
“Hmmm?”  
  
“Do you feel any better?”  
  
Before he could answer, the phone next to Illya began to ring.  “Hello?  What?”  He listened for a moment and then said, “She will?  All right, then, that would be nice.  Thank you.”  He hung up and looked at his partner.  “I have a surprise for you.  It will be here in approximately five minutes.”  
  
“Did you just order a _woman_ for me?”  
  
“Not exactly.”  He rose in response to a knock on the door.  Checking the peephole, he turned the bolt, opened it and said, “Cayla?  Come in.”  
  
Napoleon, who had been wondering how someone had approached their door without him hearing was stunned to see a young girl no older than ten enter the room carrying a plastic rectangular pan, and two brown paper bags.  She was wearing jeans and sneakers.  _That explains why I didn’t hear her,_ he thought.  
  
She handed over what she had to Illya and then turned around to reach for something on the floor of the hallway.  “This is Esme,” she said as she opened up the pet carrier and picked up a kitten.  “That’s short for Esmerelda.  She’s about six months old and she’s very nice.  One bag has litter in it and the other one has her food.  I’ll come get her around eleven tomorrow morning.”  
  
“Hand her to that man over there, Cayla,” the Russian said.  He reached into his wallet and took out fifty cents.  “Thank you, young lady.”  
  
Cayla took the money and smiled.  “Thanks, Mister!” she said happily as she ran out of the room.  
  
Illya closed and locked the door and went into the bathroom and set up Esme’s litter box under the sink.  He put her bowls of food and water by the window and went back to his bed, walking past the stunned brunet holding the little cat that seemed to have taken an immediate liking to him and even now had settled in his arms and begun to purr quite contentedly.  Napoleon was absentmindedly stroking her.     “She is not your usual Friday female company, but I think she will put you in a more positive frame of mind.  The man at the Front Desk called to say he had forgotten to mention we could have a cat for the night.  Apparently, it is a new service they offer.”  
  
“I have to admit, she seems a lot nicer than those raggedy strays that hang around your fire escape.”  Esme, almost as if she knew Napoleon had paid her a compliment, stood and stretched up to delicately sniff his face, purring the entire time.  “She does seem sweet.  Anyway, young lady, I have to get ready for bed, so if you’ll excuse me,” Napoleon said as he lifted her off him and placed her on the floor before grabbing his toiletries bag and heading into the bathroom.  
    
Illya grinned in amusement when after a few seconds, Esme pushed the bathroom door open and joined Napoleon, who was just stepping into the shower.  The conversation he was hearing broadened his grin into a full on smile.   
  
“Hey!  I didn’t ask for company, why are you in here?” _Meoowww!_ “Why are you staring at me?”  _Meow, meow!_ “Flattery will get you nowhere.”  _Meow!_ “May I have my pajamas?”  _Meow!_ “Please?  Thank you!”  Ten minutes later, a clean – shaven Napoleon emerged and while he packed his bag away in his suitcase, Esme jumped up on his bed, turned in a tight circle and laid down in the middle.  
  
“It would appear,” Illya said drolly, “that you have company for the night.”  
  
“Wonderful,” Napoleon muttered as he slid under his covers using his butt to move the cat from the bed’s center.  He looked over his shoulder to watch Esme sniff his behind and then lie down with her behind touching his.  He looked over at the Russian who had stripped to his skivvies and was in his bed.  “You’re the cat person.  Why don’t you put her on _your_ bed?”  
  
“Cat people know that you don’t choose a cat, a cat chooses _you_ and you have been chosen, my friend.”  
  
Napoleon sighed mightily.  “Whatever.  Goodnight.”  
  
 _He was on a train; the sound of the engine was soothing, but the fur hat he wore was too warm.  He reached up to remove it and felt a leg._ Napoleon’s eyes snapped open.  _A leg?_ “Esme?”  The purring intensified and the kitten rubbed its face against his hand.  “Come here, you.”  
  
He shifted so that he could lift the cat from his head and placed her beside him.  He checked the next bed and saw that his partner was still asleep and snoring lightly.  He placed Esme beside him and whispered, “Just between you and me, Esme, having you here has vastly improved my mood.  I was feeling ticked off because erroneous information had Illya and me running a fool’s errand and Waverly didn’t even say sorry.  Not that I expected an apology, but an acknowledgement that my time was wasted would have been nice.”  Esme head – bumped him in sympathy, or so he thought, and tucked her front paws under her and continued to purr.  He leaned in closer.  “Don’t tell Illya, okay, that I’m kind of glad he agreed to you being here.”  
  
“She does not have to tell me.”  
  
“Kuryakin,” Napoleon growled, “if you breathe a _word_ of this to _anyone…_ ”  
  
“Your secret is safe with me, moy droog.”  
  


End file.
